Used To
by A.Boleyn
Summary: DL. Danny was used to life as a single guy... until she came along, turning his world upside down. Sappy fluff oneshot.


**Disclaimer:** Only borrowing chracters, no ownership or monetary profit claimed.

**A/N:** Just a sappy little one-shot, a result of bunnies which attacked me quickly, and without mercy. If you don't like sap, then, you'd best not look. And if you don't like D/L, then, don't you have better things to do with your time? Otherwise, help yourself to some fluff. Special thank you to **Elainhe** for giving me some feedback and her vote of confidence. :)

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**Used To**

Danny Messer was used to life as a single guy. After all, there were lots of perks: he could come and go as he pleased, do what he wanted without being questioned or nagged, or enjoy the company of a gorgeous woman, no strings attached. He could eat pizza for breakfast and stay out until four in the morning. His job prevented him from doing that often, but regardless, it was an average bachelor life.

Was. As in, used to. Some things have changed.

He picks up his coffee every morning on the way to the lab, just like he always used to, at Bean-o-Rama. Evan, the cashier he has grown friendly with over the years, knew the routine: extra-large house blend, black. Nothing fancy. Evan would have the cup ready and waiting on the edge of the counter, Danny would plunk down his $2.15, and be on his way.

Until that day he got back in line. And explained that he also needed a medium vanilla latte. The smirk Evan gave him said it all: _That's a total chick drink. Messer's got it bad for someone_. There was no discussion, it simply became fact. Every morning since then, two cups sit waiting for him on the counter at Bean-o-Rama. Two cups, representing two people, one couple. He is part of a couple now, and fast becoming used to it.

He used to sleep comfortably in his own bed—with no one to hog the blanket, no one to fall asleep on his arm, until it went numb and limp. Now, he is often left in the cold, as she manages to roll herself up with the entire blanket, like some brunette burrito. Apparently, it wasn't enough to steal his heart—she has to steal his covers, too. When he wakes up chilled, he just looks at her there next to him, face cherubic in slumber, and he instantly grows warm again. No amount of fleece or cotton or polyester could be used to give him that delicious feeling.

He used to spend Saturday nights at O' Rourke's pub with the guys. Watching a game, downing the brews, throwing peanut shells to the ground while yelling at the television. Until that one Saturday when she had a nasty virus, and he spent it on her sofa instead, cradling her head in his lab. He rubbed her back during coughing fits, dabbed her forehead with a cool cloth. He made her soup and checked her temperature hourly. If he couldn't meet his buddies, he used to make up excuses. This time, it was the truth: "My girlfriend's sick." He didn't even mind the way they teased him with words like "whipped" and "hopeless" and "infatuated". He was used to it.

Buying groceries used to be a fairly simple task. Just a few staples were required to get him through the week. Now, he needs a list: the milk has to be skim and organic, the bread whole grain, the chicken free-range. A pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream has to be in his freezer at all times. Not that she demands this of him--on the contrary, she is always grateful and surprised that he buys these automatically. It makes her happy, and seeing her happy makes him happy. He has become used to spoiling her.

His shower used to contain a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo. On the sink was his razor and toothpaste. Now, bottles clutter the bathroom: moisturizing shampoo and color-highlighting conditioner, coconut body scrub. Volumizing mousse and plumeria body lotion. That second toothbrush stands on the sink next to his, like a monument to what his bachelor life used to be.

He never used to sit in that old recliner chair his aunt had given him, the one that is an ugly yellow-green and sits by the living room window. He simply preferred to stretch out on the sofa after a long shift, and use the chair as a mail drop and laundry basket. But now, that chair gets used almost every night: two bodies, nestled under a blanket, watching the night sky over the city. And on the clearest nights, he wonders which stars are his lucky ones, so that he might thank them.

He used to be addicted to cigarettes. Louie had given him his first drag when he was fifteen, and he kept it up until the day he turned eighteen, then decided to quit cold turkey. He wanted to drop all of those bad habits that his older brother had turned him on to, and make his own way in life. He never relapsed, either, at least not that addiction. His new addiction is called Montana, and she is a habit worth keeping. He's addicted to the sound of her laugh echoing through his apartment, the scent of her perfume which lingers on his sheets. She is a sugar buzz and a narcotic high, all rolled into one.

He used to be a pretty frugal guy. Sure, he had the credit card, but he only whipped it out for special occasions: tickets to a game, a concert. Those were the type of things that used to be considered a splurge. But now, his statement is filled with transactions: everything from Manhattan's finest florist (the tulips had to be yellow, because that was her favorite color) to that bed & breakfast weekend. Considering that they stayed in bed the entire time, even eating their meals there, it seemed ridiculously extravagant. After all, his own bed back home was perfectly fine. And that sterling silver cockroach pin had been a custom order, and an expensive one at that. But the smile when she opened it, and the way she ignores the looks of disgust when she wears it, makes it all worth it. Money is only something he used to care about.

He didn't used to be a touchy-feely kind of guy. Kisses were nice, to an extent. He and his buddies would pat each other on the back, and he might share a quick hug with family members. Thanks to her, though, he is addicted to touch. He can't get enough of her velvety skin and silky hair. He loves touching her, and feeling her touch him. Kissing has become a sport, a way to pass time for hours. It's a form of torture to be standing next to her in the lab, processing evidence, and not be able to reach out and caress her cheek, or drape his arm around her shoulders. Sometimes, his fingers just ache, desperate to make contact with her. They've simply become so used to feeling her against them.

Then there was the sex. Oh, God, yes! The sex! For him, it used to be a quick, one-sided thrill that left him feeling more than a little awkward when it was over. Sex with her, well, it was far different: it was a most intense form of worship, a way to connect with her on a level deeper than he had ever known. He paid homage to her body, and offered up his heart as sacrifice.

What about those three little words, the ones that are really not so little at all? He used to utter them almost never, only whispering them in his mother's ear on major holidays. And never to a girlfriend! It wasn't from shyness but because, well, he didn't... love them. So, nowadays when he says those words, they are truthful and spoken frequently. Sometimes whispered, sometimes shouted, always sincere. When she says them back, he knows a happiness that used to be only imagined.

The thought of marriage used to make him want to run away, screaming. He swore he would never, ever make that commitment. But at his cousin Anthony's wedding, he suddenly wondered what it would be like, to be the man standing there, Lindsay walking toward him in a white dress. The thought overwhelmed him so much that a lump formed in his throat. He had to excuse himself and escape to the men's room, where he splashed his face with water. Looking at himself in the mirror that afternoon, he thought: _okay, maybe someday_. Maybe he will ask her one day.

Danny's everyday life used to be smoothly uncomplicated, but lacking something. There used to be a hole he couldn't patch, a light he couldn't find. Used to be. The coffee, the canoodling, those are the things that matter now, erasing the minor trivialities that used to be important to him. His life is not what is used to be.

And he could get used to this.


End file.
